Last night I was picking up, slightly earlier than usual, at Newark Airport. My cargo’s normal arrival time is around midnight, but last night I actually got to float down the Garden State Parkway with weekend traffic returning to New York City.

At midnight on a Sunday, only British Airways and Virgin arrive, packed with silent business travelers. It’s just me and the limo drivers, sleepy and accustomed to the scene. But last night, while I was waiting for the much earlier BA flight, I watched the crowd spill from the LOT Polish arrival, enjoying the evidence that McWorld hasn’t yet conquered us. There is still something to distinguish every culture.

The arrivals area was another world, full of chatter and smiles, the grandmothers exiting with open, eager faces, the families greeting with flowers and kisses, caring nothing for the “Do Not Pass” barrier. It took me back to my first trips to Russia, when passing through the arrivals doors was like crashing a party where all were loved and you knew nobody.

And then they all left, and it was me and the limo drivers again. A long young man straggled out. Suit, tie, small black case — the first of the BA business crowd? Nope. Look at the shoes. Shiny tasselled loafers with a suit. Sure enough, he was speaking Russian on the phone. We all have our quirks, our dead giveaways of dress and manner. The American backpackers with inevitable khakis and shoes like SUVs. The British businessman with that open pink shirt and slumped navy jacket that an American always just fails to imitate. The perfect Church’s shoes. The Russian youth in track suits or just-too-short skirts and stilettos. And the Dutch so damn tall.

Secretly, I still love going to the airport (except the appalling Delta and American Airlines terminals at JFK — unspeakable), even with the horrid drawbacks of air travel these days. I’m easily pleased, and the Newark Airport dreary arrivals hall reminds me of a world to be seen and discovered.

This entry was posted on Monday, April 30th, 2007 at 7:11 am and is filed under Antonia projects, encounters. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.